Dungeon Trolls and Musty Scrolls
by Schwifty
Summary: Karkat Vantas was a lot of things. Petulant, loyal, and brutally honest being some of them. But while he knew what he WAS, he also knew what he WASN'T. And he WASN'T a magical fucking pansy who went prancing all over the place wielding a wand like a thin, festering dildo. THAT was Ampora's thing, not his. Which led to the question- Why him?
1. Chapter 1

**oniforever's AMAZING fic inspired this! They also checked this for errors and offered their advice- As well as helped with the plot. So yes, the plot belongs to them! (oniforever) :000**

 **Disclaimer:** **Homestuck belongs to Andrew Hussie, and Harry Potter to J.K. Rowling. Sadly.**

 **Very.**

 **Very. Sadly.**

 **Honestly. If I owned either, no ship would be safe.**

 **Your NOTP is my OTP ;0 *wonk***

 **Aaaand, I guess the plot should be here too? Ye. It's (oniforever's), as mentioned before- Plot bunny! They donated it to me, because they're nice like that.**

 **So, this takes place during the first book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone- Though it won't be the book to the** _ **letter**_ **.. Some conversations, etc. may seem different or the same- It depends, really.**

 **And to clear it up, Karkat's (Well, Troll's in general) anatomy is** **slightly less humanoid** **.. Nothing HUGE, mind you, but I very much liked oniforever's more insect-esque take on it.. But yeah. He still IS humanoid, but just has small things changed. For example, trolls have nictitating membranes, like cats- Four fingers (three and a thumb), tougher skin, etc. etc.**

 **I can go into more detail if you guys would like.**

 **So, if you haven't read the book, or forgot- Professor Quirinus Quirrell is inhabited by Voldy, whom is after the Philosopher's Stone so he may regain his physical form.**

 **Aaand, yeah.**

 **He summons a Troll in the dungeon as a distraction. ;0**

 **He didn't quite get what he'd expected.**

 **Anyways, I've rambled enough! Tell me what you think, please!**

 **ON A SEPARATE NOTE. This fic was uploaded from my first account, Callipy. I have, unfortunately lost the login information. Which is to say, I have so many fucking emails, I have no idea which one I used. I have edited some things at the end.**

 **WARNING: Content contains graphic imagery and coarse language.**

 **PROLOGUE:**

The current troll that was sprawled haphazardly on the hard floor of a certain dungeon was one Karkat Vantas, and he was truly and wholeheartedly past the point of simple movement. Yes, moving seemed to be a thing either in the past, or in the far future - for his body ached in a way he wasn't familiar with in the least. It wasn't anything life-threatening, or at least OBVIOUSLY so, that much was clear.. Fatal wounds, although dealing a more substantial amount of pain in one area, were.. Temporary, as death usually came shortly after. Lasting, aching pain, (Which is what he was definitely feeling) although less familiar, was most likely not why he felt off, though.. Which was, frankly- Strange. As his slack face contorted before settling into a pained grimace, he felt his blood-pusher pound more in his think-pan than in his chest; and his ocular-orbs throbbed tenaciously- even though he hadn't even thought to peel back his eyelids. Furrowing his brow as he shifted slightly on what he assumed to be stone, he made a noise halfway between a petulant wail and a groan at the pain that exploded in his temples; and immediately closed his mouth with an abashed click of his pointed teeth.

He... was just going to pretend that he hadn't made that noise... Yeah.

Gathering his wits, he frowned at the sticky, yet warm sensation currently residing on his upper lip and spreading like a raging, crackling wildfire. It took him a moment to realize that the odd feeling was, in fact, his cartilaginous whiffer spewing his horrid mutant color everywhere.. Well. Shit. If that didn't result in an immediate culling, he didn't know what would.. Other than his vascular system going haywire, and his nose spewing blood up like a broken, gravity-defying faucet; he could feel one of his eyes swelling shut, and a considerable amount of bruises and scrapes littering his small, crumpled form. All in all, he felt like a large, steaming pile of SHIT. Perhaps, even, the largest and steamiest to ever grace the unforgivingly cold stone- after having slid out of a hoofbeast's elongated anus. He imagined he would have made a satisfactory PLOP when he landed, festering like a bucket of discharge.

Jegus..

The stone floor that he was unceremoniously sprawled on was numbingly frigid, and it seemed to sap the heat warmer blooded trolls seemed to contain right from his blood-pusher.. Though it did sooth his upcoming migraine slightly. Doing a mental check, he concluded that no, he wasn't losing any limbs, and yes, he was currently in an unknown location harboring less severe wounds and a now _undoubtedly_ bleeding nose. He overall felt puffy and dirty, as if he'd woken from a particularly long day consisting mainly of rom-coms (and next to nothing of actual sleeping) with his windows covered, and his aching think-pan being disregarded in favor of the current movie. Or, should I say, current romantic endeavor. Whether it be ashen, red, pale or black, any of them really ranked higher than an aching head. And of course, ranking above all quadrant affiliations AND his head was his beloved DVD copy of The Thresh Prince of Bel-Air series.. Though he wouldn't get into that. Now really wasn't the time, but that was pretty obvious.

Sorry, Troll Will Smith.

Brow creasing, his grey chapped lips drew back in a silent snarl as white pointed teeth were revealed in his cherry red maw. God, it felt as if someone had drilled holes in his head before unscrewing the top and pouring caustic acid in the fucking space, only to watch it slowly trickle out of the aforementioned holes like a slow, tedious gore leakage. So... Put simply, his mental faculties weren't quite ready to process his smaller worries (like where in the almighty, taintchafing SHIT he was), nonetheless things pertaining to where his 'friends' were... And he used that term loosely.

Very loosely.

As he internally started a sort of 'reboot', he slowly built up his mentality, like a toddler stacking those insufferably thick and lamely colored blocks to create an undoubtedly horrible rendering of some building (only to later knock it down like a sociopathic shitmunching MONKEY). He felt strangely hot, and it wasn't just his temperature.. Mentally facepalming, he had to forcibly remind himself that he was bloodied and battered- And his inner fucking juices were simply heating him up externally. The cool stone felt strangely nice on the back of his aching skull, and he made the SIMPLY GENIUS (though devastatingly belated) deduction that he was inside.

Eyes clenching shut, he wasn't sure why he wasn't DEAD, or at least in some form HINDERED- as he could quite clearly hear many unfamiliar voices deceivingly laughing and screeching and doing all sorts of annoyingly obnoxious things that echoed solemnly, and hurt his inner flesh sponge. If they (whoever THEY were) knew he was here, there was no doubt in his mind that one look at his blood would result in his demise.. Well. Of course, that was a pretty big assumption.. But hell, he couldn't be too cautious. As his sore muscles belatedly caught up with his reeling mind and tensed, he waited for someone to stumble upon him- waited for the scream or the pain or.. Well. ANYTHING.

Which..

Was probably just..

A little ways away…

Uh.

Shit.

Great, he couldn't just die in fucking peace. Now he had to question where exactly he was, and why he was there in the first fucking place. Honestly, his infuriatingly slow mind figured that he should have been in at least a more substantial amount of pain by now, considering he was in unknown territory. He could picture all-too-well his steaming-fucking-corpse splayed out for whatever creature wanted a shit-snack. Or a place to pee. Hell, the pink, phallic dirt noodles would probably get him after he'd been torn beyond recognition and thrown out... THAT was an appeasing fucking thought. Grumbling to himself, his mind slowly turned to his current predicament. So.. He didn't know WHERE the fuck he was, OR why. Hell, he didn't even know HOW he got there, or if the voices he could hear bouncing and reverberating down to his level _knew_ he was there in the first place..

Taking a shuddering breath, he took account of how _strange_ it was not only that he wasn't irrefutably DEAD, (If the 'people' knew he was there, why wasn't he chained in some form, or dead? How would they benefit from him if he WAS alive?) but of the delicious and palate-watering smell permeating the air and invading his twitching (and still dripping) cartilaginous nub. How could he have overlooked that before? He couldn't smell colors, but he COULD tell if something smelled appetizing. Lip curling slightly in apprehension as he thought, (and promptly ignored how his stomach growled like a barkbeast, and his mouth watered enough to quench the thirst of the sun-bleached sands of Alternia) he figured that he most likely wasn't in any immediate danger by faceless trolls. And, if that was the case... Well, then he should wander, or at least escape.. Wherever it was he was. Which..

Wait.. Alternia.. The pink human phallus monkeys.. The game. The meteor.. The game, the GAME, the game, the game, the fucking game. It all hit him like a punch to the fucking face, and he could only stifle a scream of frustration by biting his lip, face warping into a heady scowl as his lip split and MORE fucking blood beaded at the small gash. Groaning, his throat felt hoarse and scratchy and he could taste the iron tang of his vile blood as it trickled down the back of his throat, intruding his palate via open fucking lip, which only further put him in a sour mood. How could he have POSSIBLY forgotten? Was he THAT dumb?! What in the ALMIGHTY shit aggravating someone's unwashed ANUS was wrong with him?

He honestly amazed himself daily with the amount of bullshit he put himself through. Yeah, denial sure was working for him. Finally (FINA-FUCKING-LY) opening his eyes, he blinked owlishly, his see-through, protective third eyelid of sorts slowing down the process of adjusting to the light and delaying his blinks by a fraction of a second. Gray eyes taking a surprisingly long time to adjust, he hazily looked up at the ceiling of.. A.. Building, at the least. The underlying scent from the food was a strange musty smell that made him cringe internally. It seemed.. Dank. Unpleasant. It was probably just the festering MOLD molecules making themselves at home in any porous opening though.

Looking around further proved to be.. Well. Strange? All around him were decorations that were probably meant to be 'creepy', (in some diluted sense of the word..) with the annoying color scheme of orange and black. He supposed he hadn't at first seen them because they seemed to have been disturbed by his presence.. Yip-Dee-Fucking-Doo, even inanimate objects had no respect for him.. Though it didn't seem to be HIM in general, because they were lazily drifting back to what was probably their original positions above him as he internally mused to himself.. So that made him ponder not only WHERE he was, but HOW he fucking got there.. Because his arrival seemed to have disturbed them to some extent. Sluggishly sitting up, he sighed and gritted his teeth before standing. Swaying only slightly, he managed to not simultaneously puke, and most likely spray a wonderfully large amount of blood everywhere with a sneeze; because honestly, the dust floating in the air was so thick he could probably cut through it with his sickle.

Not that he would.

That would have looked stupid, even on a comedic level.

At the sound of an obnoxious laugh rivalling that of Pyropes keen cackles, he spun around quickly to regard who had made the offending noise, surprised not only that he was still standing considering how hard his head had protested moving that fast, and also by the fact that he had to look so far up to find the speaker. He was flying, which gave him a small start- But he had seen weirder, and flying wasn't all too special under the earlier circumstances he'd been under, so his surprise wasn't _that_ great. What confused him was.. Well. Multiple things. First- He was a human. Again, nothing he hadn't seen before, but still strange considering the.. Well. As mentioned before, circumstances he'd been under. He hadn't really thought he'd ever be alive to see another sack of pink flesh, but.. There he was.. Not that he was pink. In fact, all color seemed to be lost to him- And he hadn't inexplicably become oblivious to color because he could quite clearly see a crudely carved orange pumpkin right behind him.. So. He was a gray, see-through human with a fashion choice that would make Kanaya faint, and Eridan fume. That was.. Something. Giving the guy a scrutinizing glare and matching scowl, he didn't miss the twinkle in his eye, or the devilish grin that set him on edge. Floating closer, the unnamed frothing shitsponge got right in his face, chortling once more- And giving him multiple reasons to dislike him thoroughly.

"Didn't ya know? There's a TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!" He said, which only infuriated and baffled Karkat.

Was he talking about him? Were his friends nearby?! Blood-pusher picking up as his eyebrows raised from their previous angry tilt to a more alarmed look, he opened his mouth to ask what the hell he meant, but didn't get to before the fucking pest blew him a raspberry and practically flung himself sideways, going through the wall as if it hadn't been there in the first place. Quite frazzled, he closed his mouth before renewing his glowering scowl with vigor.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Was really all he had to say on the matter.

Yellow sclera practically glowing as his eyes flickered to his chest to regard his slightly stained black shirt which depicted his symbol, he had to admit to himself that he looked a little worse for wear. By his standards, anyway. Being nocturnal by nature, his vision easily picked out things left unseen in the poor lighting. Taking note of where small cuts and bruises breached his tough, layered skin and nicked his exoskeleton, he wiped away some of the candy red blood that had coagulated on his shirt with a grimace. Yes, let's shout to the fucking world how he was a social outcast. Wiggling his four working fingers in turn to make sure he hadn't lost a digit, he scraped some of the accumulated dirt out from beneath one of his yellow-tinted claws with a thumb-nail, before realizing how fucking STUPID that was.

Yes, grooming himself was the best thing he could have possibly done in that situation. Not look around for unforeseen dangers, go after the gray nuisance, or look for his fucking friends.. Yeah, Grade A leader material.. No wonder so many people had died.. It was all his fucking fault. Gritting his teeth as such self-depreciative thoughts swirled around his cranium, he tugged his dark sweater over his hand before wiping blood from his nose with a sniff. Brooding wasn't exactly the most PRODUCTIVE thing, so he decided to stop being a fucking assmunching pansy douchenozzle and do the sensible thing.

Look for his friends.

Or track down the frivolous, nookwhiffing scumbag that had practically SCREECHED in his ear only moments prior.

His friends would obviously be there with him.. It went without saying, really. He was the leader.. Well.. WAS. Keyword right fucking there.. But. He couldn't be alone.. And why the fuck would the spawn of heinous debauchery say there was a troll in the dungeon, if most feeble human minds didn't get the concept of Aliens? One of his friends could have told him about Alternia and such.. Or at least their species' name. Clinging to this theory, he strengthened his resolve before moving. His friends.. They just HAD to be there with him. HAD to.

..Right?

Tom Marvolo Riddle wasn't daft, nor was he easily fooled.. So not only were mistakes by him personally few and far between, but a mishap at this point.. It was frankly inconceivable. Not that he even MADE mistakes in the first place. He was deceitful- fiendish, and unholy.. A corrupt being that would one day hold unyielding power. With that said, he would admit.. that some things just tended to be more.. difficult in the body he inhabited. Who's body? Well, Quirrell's- of course! The foolish Professor.. Though he may have been hindered slightly physically, there was no END to his perfidious, diabolical ways. Yes, yes- Diabolical is quite the cliche word in this case, but it served it's purpose in its definition.. Whispering in the weakminded and even weaker-kneed Professors mind, any feeble attempt at salvaging a scrap of dignity- of salvation, of SANITY was engulfed. How pitiful, though he hadn't been expecting a large fight from the beginning. He was so terribly FOOLISH. It only took some coaxing, some small fibs, and some minor… influences through intimidation- And they were on the same page.

So with that said, he should probably divert all of his attention at the task on hand.

Which was quite simple, really. After all, Quirrell was quite exceptional at anything pertaining to, or relating to TROLLS. Yes, the big nasty and no doubt DUMB creatures were his expertise.. Which was why he was using one in the current ploy. Oh, yes- Moving the stone from Gringotts had been a minor setback.. Well. Admittedly, MORE than minor- but he could adapt. He'd have to have been all types of hopeless if he had just given up.. For, all people of great power have had to surpass more than one setback. Failure wasn't impossible, but it was damn well hard to achieve with the way he'd figuratively played his cards.. Assuming, of course- Everything went according to plan..

His simple. SIMPLE. Plan.

All he had to do was summon the damn creature in the dungeons, play stupid as he alerted the fools- then seize the opportunity of chaos and retrieve the stone. Easier said than done, of course- But a slobbering Mountain Troll would fit his needs in terms of 'distraction' quite nicely.. His cupidity, his pure AVARICE- NEED for the stone, for a physical form overwhelmed him momentarily, and his nerves were practically HUMMING.

Quirrel would have been trembling in his boots was he wearing any, but he wasn't. So, he was just scared. Very, very, very scared. He wasn't evil, at least- he didn't think so, but he WAS naive, and this naivety brought forth his downfall. He would do what he was told. He would do it to please the Dark Lord, to survive as a host. Looking around him, Quirrel stilled. Shaking slightly, he grabbed his wand from the folds in his cloak , and he did what he was best at. Before he knew it, it was done.

The Troll was in place, and he could now move on, proceed- go forth, ABSCOND. After a seconds hesitation, he was off in a cloud of dust with a billowing SWOOSH of his cape. He strode with purpose, long awkward legs picking up the pace until he was running. He was running, and his previous fear would combine nicely with his next task.

By now the nearest troll would have been in the dungeon, wreaking havoc and being terrifically dull and sufficiently distracting..

He was gone, departed, elapsed- Though if he'd stopped to listen, to watch the dust motes he had disturbed float down- made visible by a beam of light, he would have heard a very distinct, and very angry voice cry out something along the lines of..

"WHAT THE FUCK."

 _...Sometimes, overestimating oneself can lead to a rude, and LOUD awakening._

 _This is why you double-check your shit, kids._

 **I'd appreciate Constructive Criticism!**

 **Word Count to meet- 3386, or something along those lines! I hope to exceed or meet this each chapter! 0v0 I hope you enjoyed this!**

 **This is more of a filler chapter anywho, as the REAL fun starts soon. ;0**

 **I hope you tolerated this piece of garbage. There's a reason KK is worse for wear, other than my gore fascination, but that comes later.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A big shout out/Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

 **I'm going to stick with the POV following Karkat, but I might focus on The Golden Trio later on.**

 **ლ(́◉◞** ౪◟◉‵ **ლ)**

 **Also, Peeves is surprisingly hard to write.**

 **I wanted to flip a goddamn table because I had to rewrite a scene- and delete half of my fic because of himmmm. (** **ノ** ಠ **益** ಠ **)** **ノ彡┻━┻**

 **Disclaimer** **: Homestuck belongs to Andrew Hussie, and Harry Potter to J. K. Rowling.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Sorry for the delay, Updates should be sooner and more consistent after this.**

Chapter 1

Karkat wasn't a _patient_ troll, to say the least. Any semblance of that _particular_ quality had been tested and tried- Worn thin by years of arduous trials of integrity and mental stability- One of which he lacked desperately to begin with. He was thus left predominantly bitter and irritable, with perhaps a smudge of dry humor to spicen things up a little. With that said, wandering aimlessly in a musty, dungeon-esque Hive (of sorts?) while he felt like absolute shit didn't exactly improve his mood. His thin, _THIN_ patience was being surely and not at all slowly whittled away by one Peeves the fucking Poltergeist (Which, although he had some inkling of understanding on the topic of things dead but not truly, he still foolheartedly hoped the strange word was synonymous with diarrhea- or some other equally unpleasant word). Honestly? He wasn't so much as WHITTLING the poor piece of splintered frond-nub flesh, as much as fucking SMASHING it with a sledgehammer. The bag of literal shit (If we were to hold steady with the poop theme, in terms of Peeves-) apparently had nothing better to do than pester him, and just the way he introduced himself left Karkat wanting to wring his neck out like a worn, ragged washcloth soaking with the remnants of somebodies festering body fluids. Yes, the aforementioned infectious shit-parasite had returned not long after his departure, though he refused to clarify what he'd said earlier. Somehow, he managed to get Karkats name, (He suspected it was between his attempt of a punch, and when Peeves almost lit his hair on fire with a floating candle) and hearing it on his lips made his head throb, and lip curl in irritation.

Huffing and grumbling to himself, it hadn't even been five minutes- And he was already more than willing to drop. Yes, the floor was looking pretty fucking comfortable to him.

Oh, was that a shitty human bed?

No. No it wasn't.

It was the fucking floor, though he could easily mistake it for someplace he'd drop, too tired to care that his sad existence would be plagued in his dreams by things of unimaginable horrors.

Human beds were fucking weird, and he supposed that his slight bafflement, and incredulousness bled through into his depressing internal monologue. But that wasn't the point. The point was that he was stressed, he was tired, and he was pretty much escalating to a point of hysteria.

His battered body was throbbing and protesting every movement, different points and muscles aching in a plethora of different ways with each miniscule working tendon; no matter how slight. His blood and boiling stomach acid lined his throat like liquid fire from some earlier dry-heaves that left Peeves doubled over in laughter; a constant and throbbing pain that made it hard to swallow, speak or think. He guessed that something to distract him from his own thoughts was good though, albeit somewhat cowardly on his part. Wiping his nose with his sleeve absentmindedly, he was just glad his cartilaginous face nub had stopped spouting blood, and just proceeded to ache slightly. He was sure his nose hadn't been broken, as he would be in a substantially larger amount of pain had that been the case, not to mention loads of more blood- Though it was definitely sore. Like the rest of him, regrettably.

His eye had by then, swelled at an alarming rate- and he opted to just close the aching sight-orb to save himself the pain. He'd occasionally stop to rest his cheek and bruised face against the cool, albeit rough wall- So as to ease the pain. Pausing so regularly probably wasn't the best idea though, as Peeves refused to stop- And Karkat had to strain himself to catch up; more often than not cursing his short, stupid stump legs. He wasn't entirely sure why Peeves seemed somewhat rushed, or why he was following him in the first fucking place, but he wasn't really in the _mood_ to wander off and most likely get himself culled in such unfamiliar territory (His stupid, mutant, dastardly, discriminate BLOOD was smeared all over him in the most obvious of places, and he wasn't willing to take the chance of going in the wrong direction). His aforementioned _mood_ wasn't being improved at all, even though the flaming bag of shit someone had left unceremoniously on his figurative, crummy doorstep seemed to be pretty familiar with the winding halls.

His chest felt tight, as if the skin was stretched too thin, and there was an empty aching within him that was all too familiar. He knew enough about doubt and hating himself to realize when he wasn't the happiest troll, though a strange weight settled in his stomach was unique in its pain; however, it just added to his plethora of self-depreciative feelings. He couldn't place the sensation; though it felt as if he'd swallowed rocks, and they'd filled and weighed down a space inside of him he didn't know was there. All of this added to a constant, shuddery ache in his collapsing and expanding bladder based vascular system, and the less substantial physical pain filled him with a sort of dread. Sighing, he tiredly ran a clawed hand through his messy, bird-nest-ready hair- flinching when a greasy lock fell from between his fingertips and hit a tender, slightly bruised spot on his forehead. He could feel the once warm blood left smeared on his face had cooled and dried to an annoying crust, and it only flaked when he wiped furiously at it; only irking him more. Some of the blood had gotten in his mouth, (to add to the list of things that were pissing him off-) and stained his teeth a diluted sort of cherry- which tasted nothing like the aforementioned fruit, and had more of an iron tang.

 _ **Naturally**_. (And he said this internally with a voice just dripping- sopping, even, with sarcasm.)

Plodding unsteadily on, he couldn't help but notice the small droplets of red he left smeared on the dark stone. It was oddly ominous in the dim lighting, and looked to be a significantly darker shade via the shadows- The splatters reminded him of a certain gore fest of drying blood ranging from a festering, dirty rust, to... Brow furrowing at the thought, he promptly discarded any mental musing along those lines. Nope, now was NOT the time for that. Whatever time it was, he didn't very much care to find out, as he had bigger priorities- was MOST CERTAINLY not the time for that. (Though he was relieved he had the nights cover, as the sun had yet to grace the horizon screaming and seething in all it's hot glory). Cursing under his breath, he flinched at the sound of an echoing giggle, and he had to make a visible effort to not attempt to STRANGLE the ghost responsible. Poltergeist. Whatever. (He had tried before, and ended up face-down on the fucking ground. Honestly, if the douche wasn't already dead- He would have been by then). At some point, the load gaper-inhabiting fuck had let Karkat lead the way down a hall that didn't really leave much room for choice except for forward anyways, and occasionally berated his leadership skills. He'd be damned if he listened to him, even if he _was_ right in the sense that his leadership skills were lacking horrendously. The guy was basically a shit-spouting corpse monkey with an annoying habit of outwitting him, and this only fueled the fiery ball of unkempt rage that was Karkat Vantas- though he'd be damned if he didn't admit that him leading ANYTHING, ANYWHERE wasn't a good idea in the least.

He was actually somewhat grateful Peeves was so annoying, as it made it easier to revert back to his passive-aggressive, grumpy self. He felt sort of out of whack, but he supposed that came with playing the game- and seeing just what it entailed. His normality of hiding behind a mask of anger and rebuttal had cracked under pressure and the ever-present whispers of self-loathing and guilt, and his growing confidence had been twisted and warped; stunted in its tracks and turned into something ugly... Honestly, he was just glad to have at least some semblance of how he was before, though he was more than wary of every little detail in whatever god-forsaken land the Universe had shit him ass-backwards in.. Some of it was from lack of sleep, and he could practically FEEL the bags under his eyes tempting gravity- Though most of his languish and paranoia was from his experiences and... memories of the game.

Sometimes though, when the flashes of death and gore plastered on his friends (except it didn't have to be plastered, oh god- his cowardice and FAILURE as a leader made his fears a reality-) became too much, or the pure, depraved clusterfuck of INSANITY that he'd been thrusted into clawed it's way into his conscience; he second guessed his own head. He had gone crazy.

Yep. Applause, applause, everyone- Karkat had officially lost his marbles. He didn't know where the fuck they had gone, and even if he found them, they'd probably be covered in dust bunnies and god-knows what else.

"You're going the wrong wayyyy, Kar-shat," Peeves said in a sing-song voice, and Karkat stopped short in his tracks at that.

Baring his teeth unconsciously, his oversized, stained incisors contrasted against his own ruby tongue as he tiredly rubbed the less sore side of his face once more. Jaw clenching as he reminisced different ways to brutally and creatively murder Peeves, he willed away the urge to get something to try to (in vain), clobber the sentient shit-stain with. Realizing after a moment that he still hadn't responded to the taunt- as he was caught up in a enticing yet morbid scene of the guys double death; Peeves was looking all smug and taunting and jegus, he was so punchable in a platonic, homicidal sort of way. The ghost (which he KNEW was different from this psychedelic, bat-shit *INSANE* chucklefuck of a Poltergeist, as pointed out by the fuck himself- but in all honestly- he wasn't really ready to take the effort to produce a single fuck to differentiate a Poltergeist and Ghost)- was obviously just trying to get under his skin; but Karkat was NOT going to let him get away unscathed from his verbal thrashings for the horrendously laughable nickname presented to him on a platter made not of silver, but of heavily compressed shit, complete with nice little ornery designs made of squeak-beast droppings.

"...First off, you're behind me, so you can't fucking expect me to-" Not letting him finish, Peeves swooped down like a mentally unstable bird, using his momentum to float _just_ in front of the seething troll. Taking a shuddering breath in before holding it in his lungs momentarily, it all came out in a large woosh, as if he'd been punched in the gut- and he tried to regain some composure. His sore chest hurt from holding in the large gulp of air, and his face tingled not at all pleasantly as his cheeks turned a ruddy red.

"...SECONDLY, you never told me WHAT way was fucking right or wrong, so you aren't only essentially as USELESS as tits on a TURTLE, or whatever you call it- But ANNOYING in all aspects of the word. It's like God has sent you from the pits of the deepest, driest, shittiest HOLE in HELL to BOTHER me into oblivion. And lastly, that nickname is just shy of earning you a FUCKING fist down your face flap. I swear to god, I will shove my hand SO far down your throat you'll choke on your own blood before I can pull out the end of your intestinal track. And if you aren't double dead by THEN, then you most certainly will be when your jagged teeth rip your mouth open and SHIT as well as coagulated BLOOD block your FUCKING AIR-HOLE." He rasped, and under any other circumstance, he would have finished it all off with a contemptuous snarl and glare, but as of late- he was rather light headed. So he settled for spitting where the _thing_ hovered, not caring that it was a pitiful attempt and half of it was blood that had trickled down his throat. The only thing he got for his efforts was a figurative kick in the head, and a spike of pain down his sore throat- as well as a snigger from Peeves.

The insult probably would have worked better if he could touch the guy. (AKA, Murder the guy, and follow through with the threat) He wasn't sure Peeves even had a need to shit, so…

There was that.

Peeves cackled again, and turned belly-up so he floated in a way that made it seem like he was swimming. Karkat wasn't oblivious, but he WAS pointedly refusing to look at Peeves. Instead his gaze remained fixated on the passing objects that had suddenly decided that they didn't have to be bound by the laws of gravity or psychics. Even if he was quick to anger, and held petty grudges (until he remembered how STUPID that was), he didn't openly lash out at anyone who didn't entirely deserve it. (Hell, Ampora was living… Well. Emphasis on the ' _Was_ ', living proof of that). But Peeves.. Well, Peeves was just a nugget of shit floating in someone's ablution trap. That wasn't where shit went. Nobody wants shit there. And the nugget is essentially infecting the water in which you wished to clean yourself in. So, he deserved some of the bullshit being continuously supplied to him so graciously by him. From one shit to another. Anyways though, Karkats sudden fascination with the ceiling meant Peeves was unsupervised, for the most part- Though he was, of course still in his peripheral vision. But his apparent lack of attention meant he missed not only the shaking of the Poltergeists shoulders as he laughed, but the not entirely innocent look in his eyes.

"Ha, haa! If you wanted DIRECTIONS, you could have just asked!" He retorted, and-... Wait, what.

Was he serious. THAT was all he got out of that entire speech. No.

*NO*.. Fuck that in the wettest, deepest place it had like the filthy slut it was.

Face turning a horrid crimson, he turned to look at the man, and was about to respond with something as graphic and offensive as his earlier outburst, but physically lacked the amount of FUCKS it would take. Insult dying on his tongue, he deflated like an open balloon and waved his hand in a 'yeah-yeah' sort of way. He was somewhat grateful for the fuckers company anyways, even if it was SHIT-company. After all, it was better than wandering aimlessly in an unfamiliar and potentially unfriendly, or in other words- HOSTILE environment by himself.

"Then lead the way, shit-lord. My supply of fucks is next to nonexistent." He croaked, and his words dripped with apathy and begrudging resignation. Cue the impish grin, aaand, yeah. He FUCKING hated him. (PLATONICALLY, jegus christ- there should have been some word to differentiate if he was seeing spades or not).

"Say PLEASE!" Peeves practically sang, the two words rolling off his tongue sickeningly sweet, as if they'd bathed in honey before drying themselves off with cotton-candy towels. That was, of course- insinuating that words were sentient.

And they weren't.

"..." He gave the guy a look that communicated an ample amount of petulant exasperation as well as his refusal to do so, hating the way the transparent, shit-gurgling dead _flesh sponge_ was drawing out the conversation, as it wasn't exactly HELPING his throat.

"No manners, no directions!" He chirped with a shit-eating grin, and Karkat briefly wondered if the shit-theme was getting old. It was certainly restricting his vocabulary, which was equal parts vulgar, and extensive.

Sighing, he licked his chapped lips, tasting the metallic tang of dried blood before muttering softly ways to strangle the ghost to death-until his throat forced him to stop. Pausing briefly to catch his breath as well as give his strained throat some time to recuperate, he fought the urge to tiredly rub at his face again- not wanting to mess with his swollen eye, and in general- fucked-upness.

"...Peeves. It's not that I HATE you, but. I think you're the result of God's worst shit. Not in the sense that the aforementioned *SHIT* stunk or anything, but in the sense that if you were to have a shit-contest for the biggest and worthiest shits, you wouldn't even qualify. Like, God's pitiful attempt to shit you out was like giving birth out of his ass. And the final product wasn't even a complete shit. He just crouched over the load-gaper like a bizarre frog and farted as a little piece of feces shot out of his asshole. Peeves?... You are that piece of shit. You're what people watch out for when they try to fart silently in a crowded room. Be glad that God launders well, or you would have been the brown stain on his starkingly white undergarments," He said hoarsely, though his words carried a matter-of-fact sort of vibe; aaand that was probably not the right thing to say. Leveling a glare at the frivolous Poltergeist, he didn't really know why he didn't comply; as that would have been a whole lot easier, if a bit embarrassing… But Peeves had been a royal pain in the ass, so _sorry_ if he wasn't keen on playing nice.

Peeves looked at him as if he'd kicked a baby barkbeast, though Karkat could now see the hidden grin, and glint in his eye as he had leveled a half-assed glare with the delivery of his words.

"Now that's just MEAN, Karkat. I can be MEAN too, y'know!" Peeves chirped, and Karkat didn't detect the underlying treachery in those words. Presenting the intangible man with a disbelieving scowl, Karkat really wasn't in the mood for a shouting match, and was about to say as much; but couldn't utter so much as a syllable before the Poltergeist was in his face with a perfidious, cheshire grin.

"How'd your friends cope with you and your dirty, ugly mouth? I mean, assuming you HAVE them!"

And that was when Karkat Vantas, failed Leader, failed friend, failed troll had had enough. HIs stomach was in knots, his chest a gaping black hole of self-hatred, and the pure GUILT was hitting him now, like a hammer in the gut. He simultaneously wanted to die, puke, and somehow drag Peeves down to hell with him. Biting his lip so hard he drew blood, he suddenly couldn't breath- And he _wasn't_ going to tear up, no- God. He was better than that.

" Oh, Karkat! I'm sure your lumpy, deformed face and even WORSE attitude scared everyone away! Ha haa! Are you the last of your kind? Do tell me."

"Well?" The still-grinning shit-niblet said, and this was a whole new level of platonic hatred that reached astronomical levels.

"Weeell? Shock me! Say something INTELLIGENT,"

His gray, battered face, which was covered with a sheen of sweat, dirt and blood contorted in agony, and his cheeks tinged a brilliant red as he strained not to fucking EXPLODE. Internally, Karkat was flipping the fuck out. He was (regrettably) ready to pirouette off the fucking handle, though he decided to save that for when he had an audience. His third eyelid immediately flicked in front of his working eye- so as to try and contain the prickling sensation. His alien anguish bladder was bulging, but he denied the temptation, more for his pride than himself.

"WILL YOU- FOR ONE SECOND JUST *SHUT* THE *FUCK* UP?!" He shouted, voice wavering and throat being engulfed in searing pain for a moment as the words shook him to the core, and made his migraine increase tenfold. His head felt as if his brain was growing too big, pressing against the skull and splitting it in two in a grotesque show reminiscent of a chick hatching. Turning away from the thoroughly amused cum sponge, he scowled at the floor with hate making his blood-pusher hurt in an excruciatingly painful, non-romantic way.

Was he REALLY that sensitive? Jegus, one little FUCKING offhand comment and he was falling apart by the seams like an old and devastatingly mistreated stuffed creature. He wasn't FRAGILE. He was. Was, what? A leader? Well, not anymore. Internally groaning, he clenched his hand into a fist by his side, trying to ignore his thoughts and focus on something- ANYTHING, other than what he said; even if it was the pain his claws were causing. Small, but jagged indents were left as he relaxed his grip slightly, and he had to just.. Calm down. Different fleeting emotions crossed his face, and he scowled after a moment- though his eyes shown with a different feeling. He had woken up in unfamiliar turf with no sign of his friends, and oh god- He left them. Granted, most were not really able to question where he was as they were...

Let's say preoccupied.

 _Death must keep you pretty busy,_ whispered that ever-present voice in the back of his head bitterly, and he screamed at himself internally to follow his own advice, and shut the fuck up.

It was all his fault. He messed up, he messed up horribly- and he wasn't a leader anymore.

But just the thought of leaving the survivors made him want to hurl, and it was finally setting in that they were gone, and GOD. They were gone. He couldn't protect them, couldn't even protect himself and he had to just get a _grip_. Taking a shaky breath, he tucked away his growing panic for a later date. He didn't know for SURE that he wasn't in the game. Yeah. Weak, he knew. But it was something. And, they could still be here.. Somewhere. His friends. He meant.. He had to have still been somewhere within what was left of Bilious Slick- that frivolous pond-squatter.. And.. And, concerning his 'friends', Peeves had never said they WEREN'T in the general vicinity.. Explicitly? Just that he was at the moment, without them. Right?

Calming himself from his unbidden outburst, he took deep gasping breaths, kneading his temples and trying to tune out Peeves horrid giggling as his eyes screwed shut.

Swallowing the guilty lump in his throat, he sarcastically hoped the stress of the situation didn't mess with his perfect complexion. Blearily opening his sore eyes, he was surprised at the ghosts sudden proximity. Jumping slightly in a small start as Peeves was suddenly in front of him, he narrowed his eyes- torn lip upturned in contempt. Good thing the Dead had no need to breath, as he couldn't imagine someone of his gross exterior could have minty fresh breath.

"Oh, you did it nooow. Here they come! Better run, Kar-shat!" He said, saluting him for whatever reason before soaring away- before he could even sort out what he'd said. In his frazzled state, it was if someone had dumped a puzzle on his head and expected him to sort it out on the spot, even as the pieces fell underfoot and scattered like the marbles he had earlier lost. Cursing after the flying safety hazard, he kept himself from doing the cliche shaking-of-the-fist, instead just shooting him a glimpse of a very special finger.

Now that he wasn't going to figuratively explode, he could safely and forcibly take his mind off of things. He was in the PRESENT. And what had come over him earlier was really fucking weak. God, the only person he hated more than himself was his PAST self.

The loud noises seemed to STILL reverberate through him, and his head pounded louder than his heart. Taking the chance to sooth his face by slumping against a wall in shock, he shakily cursed under his breath; feeling as if he was putting ice on a burn as he soothed his aching face. He just *HAD* to open his big, mean mouth and make things worse. Brow furrowing, he took a shaky breath in- eyes closing just enough so that the third protective film fell over his ocular orbs. Was Peeves.. Was he serious? Were there actually people- Things, even, looking for him?

As if on cue, he heard scuffling down the way Peeves had soared, and a muttered word like 'Loomous', or 'Lumis' or something; followed by a strange light.

Oh, god.

Eyes widening almost comically, the stretch hurt his swollen glance nugget, and he immediately cupped the sore extremity, using the palm of his hand to keep it closed. Working eye frantically looking down the dim hall to the only viable escape route- and back again to the bobbing light coming into view; the troll steeled himself against his churning stomach and aching think-pan before fucking booking it down the hall opposite of the tall, 'looming' figures. His hurried, pattering footfalls attracting their attention, and he seriously had to find somewhere to hide as an immediate exit didn't look probable. He had earlier considered jumping out of an admittedly small window, but figured that unless he wanted Tavros' outcome, or an agonisingly slow death- that that would be an unlikely outcome. Probably a last resort sort of thing, if a choice at all. He heard a shout, and more light flooded the hall, making his pursuers' shadows dance on the wall beside him like puppets on the end of a drunken puppeteer's strings. Adrenaline kicked in, allowing his previously aching, protesting joints and torn flesh to dull to an ever-present throbbing, he stumbled slightly up a slight incline, working to keep his footing. Almost falling as he skidded around a corner, he bowled through a doorway that- thankfully wasn't locked.

In his haste, Karkat failed to see the girlish sign hanging next to the door; and the stifled sniffle that echoed fell on deaf ears, as Karkat was too busy listening to his pounding heartbeat. Cursing softly some choice words about the Poltergeist and where he could shove some items not entirely ethical for the sort of thing he was insinuating, Karkat took great gulping breaths in-between profanities.

Standing tense next to the door, the footsteps paused in a junction before heading a different way. His keener ears could hear their muttered words as they headed deeper within the dungeon-esque building, as well as the scuff of their shoes and wheezed like an open whopee cushion in relief . After making sure that they were gone, he locked the door just to make sure before heaving a sigh. His heart stuttered in his chest, and his glance nuggets flickered over his surroundings. It seemed he was in some sort of washing room? Looking down at his strut pods which were covered by his ragged shoes, he glanced back up as he hesitantly meandered towards the small ablution traps, trying to find the right word for them. What was it? S.. Something. Shrugging off such meaningless efforts, he turned to curiously regard the mini-door seperation things. Weird.. Starting with the one all the way at the end, he pushed it open with a clawed finger, glancing in to see a… Load gaper. Huh.

The next three mini-rooms held the same contents. Who needed this many load gapers?... Maybe the inhabitants WEREN'T human, and had more than one anus? But then, why would the load gapers be separated… It was a mystery.

One that he wasn't that keen on exploring any further.

Having calmed his frantic panting considerably, he supposed he could try to find an exit… Though looking in the reflective surface above the s-somethings made him reconsider. His hair was an absolute mess, and blood was smeared across his face from his attempting to wipe it away from his nose. (No wonder Peeves kept laughing at him) Something though, nagged at him. He looked.. What was the word? Deciding to dismiss it, he tenderly prodded his bruise, which shown a ruddy crimson, making him curse under his breath. His heart was still beating like a drum and his veins were still carrying Epinephrine, and clouding his judgement was his panic. Seeing his reflection with one eye was slightly disconcerting, though between the ache in his horns and body, he was relieved to have something to focus on. Before he could however, decide to rest or flee, he heard a small sniff that made him jump slightly.

What the FUCK was that?!

Raising his arms in a defensive mannerism, his large incisors once again made themselves known as he spun around; not comfortable with the idea of seeing something- or someone sneak up behind him in the mirror and not be able to do anything other than gape like a fish out of water.

"Who's there?"

 **The next chapter will hold MUCH more HUMOR (YEY) and less bad shit puns.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


End file.
